Hunt For the Silver Stag

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Hunt For the Silver Stag

This is my first real attempt at an in-depth character fiction/novel involving one of my characters as first-person view. Please hold your comments if you want to post them. Instead, contact me over IM or PM me if you would like to give me feedback, since this will be a good length for a fic. As Chapters are added, I'll put the titles of them here. Enjoy!

I. Concerning Nymphs and Other Matters
II. Concerning a Small Problem and Solutions

(Concerning Nymphs and Other Matters)


Their laughter rang through the air currents, cradling the creatures in the forest with its sweet, light melody. My fingers moved to match the pitches as I blew into the holes of the pan flute. The moment brought an incredible rush of nostalgia to my mind, such a rush I felt my breath become snagged in my throat. A childish chorus of giggles snapped me out of the fond flashback, brief as it was. I smiled.

Starting a new tune, my eyes followed the graceful swirling dance of the water nymphs. They were still young, judging by their lack of real contact, but playful, a quality difficult to find in their elders. Truthfully, I preferred water nymphs to any of their cousins, only a few of which I’d ever met or even seen in person.

The first and most popular, especially with my town of Lorderon, are the wood nymphs. From what I’ve experienced, they tend to be the vainest, although most nymphs are generally over-concerned with appearances. They demand exclusive respect and shy away from humans often. Despite making contact with me, not many are as willing to offer anything more than a short quip of advice or perhaps a moment of small talk. The only reason I really am mentioning them at all is entirely due to a childhood incident in which my favor towards one wood nymphet influenced them all.

The time had come, while I was naught but a youngling, to bring me before the sacred clearing for my first offering to Liera, the mother of all wood nymphs and goddess of the earth. My offering in comparison with other younglings towered over theirs. A fresh harvest, adorned in garnishing of the finest herbs, surrounded on all sides by various flowers in full bloom. Dew from the plant Rosalin topped the gathering.

I can’t say for sure what my mother was thinking, but I suppose, like many other widowed, working elves, she had other matters on her mind. Either way, somehow during the walk, she lost track of my location. Being so young, I recalled the only advice I could remember and followed it. I waited. Time passed, and though I was told later on my mother looked for me, she did not find me.

No, actually the one who found me was Leah, one of the children of Liera, most of whose names begin with “L”. In my state of helplessness, she befriended me, and asked the trees to help. It took only moments to find my mother. The picture I have of the nymphet in my mind has grown withered and dusty over the years, but I can still describe her to those whom have never seen a wood nymph.

Wood nymphs may or may not wear clothes. Many fashion for themselves clothing using leaves from trees or bark or even earth. Leah wore a top of bark and vine, and a skirt of willow leaves, which swayed as she moved about me. Her crown (though I would not consider her royalty), twirled a circlet of flowery-studded vine together, adorned on each side with two ladybugs and a monarch butterfly directly in the middle.

As we walked and talked, I recall her dainty, pale green feet, without toes, growing patches of flowers with each step. She praised my offering, assuring me of many blessing I would receive. I began to assume I would like nymphs of all kinds as I waved goodbye. How wrong I was.

Fire nymphs are quite unpleasant. It’s not their fault, of course, being hot-headed is in their blood, figuratively and quite literally. These particular nymphs are equal in male to female ratio, the only type I know of which is equal. Something that will always trigger a fire nymph’s race is their hair. It will always be fire-like in color, and literally fire when they are angry. They tend to be prank-prone and have very quick tempers. Having only met one, I cannot speak for the entire race, but never in any circumstances must one argue with a fire nymph. Thankfully, they usually remain within a hot climate.

I don’t know much of dark, nor light nymphs, considering neither are very social. Through legends it is said they are rather small, only about the size of a hand. Light nymphs guide lost people through the dark of caverns and blackest night. Mother once told me humans mistake the smaller lanterns they flash for fireflies! Honestly, humans really are not able to see past their noses.

Dark nymphs like to hide; they thrive on tricking people and poisoning their lives. Elf parents tell their children to have sweet dreams or sleep well to protect them from nightmares dark nymphs willingly bestow. Dark nymphs are bound to not rebel against orders, even if humans give them. They do not have to obey orders, but they cannot fight against good intentions of love, so I’m told.

Air is difficult to describe. Generally female, they can only be seen by using something material to frame themselves with, such as petals, dust, or sand. These nymphs, “spirits of the sky”, so they’re called, look over the world and tend to keep to themselves.

Out of all the nymphs, I will say quite confidently water nymphs are my favorites. I’ve only met a few. I continued on my flute, watching the water bubble with giggles. Water has always been beautiful, clear, soothing, flexible, yet it can be harsh, cold and vengeful. Most of the nymphs don’t wear clothing; even the ones now are naked. Water nymphs tend to be female, but I have heard of a few male. They also range in friendliness, some coming right up to humans, while others, such as sirens, make it their duty to kill man using their haunting abilities.

After a few more moments of enjoying the company I had, I decided it best to move on, lest I lose track of time. Who knew what disaster could happen to add onto my already-heavy burden? Though I hadn’t realized it, I found myself analyzing my reflection in the rippling, glassy water of the small pond. It didn’t really surprise me. Elves have always been concerned about looks, even if not purposely.

My silver hair, obviously from my father, bent back and forth in thin waves to my back. My eyes stared at the swirls of turquoise peering back in return. I stopped preening myself. “You’re not a peacock,” I chided, putting the pan flute away. Time to resume my route.

“Peacock? Oi’d say you were a bih’ too big for a bird,” a familiar cockney accent reached my ear with a slight pressure on my shoulder.

“Oh shut your beak,” I whistled, a sense of fondness coming from the words… a small fondness. “Did you find it?”

He tilted his feathered head, his mix of soft green and unique blues shimmering in the lights of the sun through the forest canopy. He said nothing.

“Well?” I repeated, growing a bit impatient.

“Oi thought you told me to shut moi beak.”

The indignant look of the bird made me frown. He didn’t seem to realize the seriousness of the situation. “Chimeree.”

The tone of my voice not only made the bird flinch, but seemed to frighten the water nymphets, making them scatter. “Yeah, oi saw it,” the bird affirmed, taking flight and waiting for me to follow his erratic movements.

Judging by the position of the sun, I guessed it was near four o’clock, maybe a bit afterwards. Perhaps if luck deemed me worthy, I would not have to remain for the night. Not much chance of that. I maneuvered past the brush as it got thicker, thornier, and more animated.

“Oi told you to ask ‘er about keeping ‘er cottage where we kin’ find it.”

“Well, when we get there, you can ask her.” The forest of Escata was not high on a list of intended places to tour. I would have appreciated anything else. Not that I don’t like forests, I was born in a forest, I’m told. It’s just the enchanted ones I don’t favor so much. Which we are currently very close to, which in turn makes me uncomfortable.

Magic can be good, or very bad, depending on who uses it. Personally, though I have the ability, I choose not to use it… too many side effects and things to worry over. Not all elves have strong enough magical essence in their bodies to learn complicated spells, anyway.

“Mrow?”

I looked up to see a rather plump, grinning cat with familiar fancy feathers sticking out of the corners of its lips. No wonder I hadn’t heard from Chimeree for a while, I realized in a state of shock. “Hey! Let go of him!” The cat bolted. I knew my friend was still alive; I could hear him squawking insults. I tore after the cat, pausing only as it jumped a large stone wall. “Hey!” Climbing the ten-foot wall turned out to be easier than I expected.

I thudded a bit ungracefully to the ground. As soon as I tried to walk forward, I felt something pulling back against my wishes. I glanced at my foot. It was covered in a dark vine that seemed to sprout from the wall. I shook my boot a little, but it only seemed to wrap tighter. A low, raspy growl as the vine slunk further up to my calf confirmed my suspicions. I cursed loudly, struggling against the plant’s iron grip. Vines took control of my arms, my head, intent upon making me a permanent piece of the courtyard.

The rough texture scraped over my skin. Muffled protests spilled from my lips, hidden under the steady hissing the vines emitted. My body was becoming covered; my eyesight began to go black with the vines deathly squeeze. The last thing I saw before my vision faded was a human-like figure laughing, arms crossed with that cat in its arms.

Concerning a Small Problem and Solutions

“You’re getting slow, Arlen.”

My eyelids fluttered open and I tried to speak, but all that emerged was a groan.

“My snapdragons gave you a good squeeze, didn’t they? I’ve been studying.”

I managed, after some more struggling, to sit up from the padded couch I had been laid upon for the moment. “Chim-“ I found my voice leaving.

“Your little bird friend? Cheeky fellow is fine, Arlen. Matilda didn’t hurt him.”

“Snapdragons?” I growled as if it were her fault they snatched me, stumbling into the kitchen where she turned from her cooking, pulling me over to a chair.

“Sit. Relax, and then drink this.” She poured a glass of water, producing a vial from spice racks and allowing a drop to fall into the drink, followed by another.

I complied. The rush of flavor, fruity and jolting, sent wave after wave of pleasure shocking my taste buds. The sweetness, the intoxicating, ultimate sweetness, it thrilled me as if I had been offered more money than I could count. Rosalin, pure and perfect in every way.

“Feel better?” She smiled, leaning across the counter.

“Mrrow? Mow? Meow? Rowr?”

She leaned down and hoisted the cat up in her arms. “This IS Arlen, Matilda.”

I was already feeling much better. “Hello, Matilda.” Mother always taught me to be pleasant to animals. Unfortunately, most elves haven’t learned to talk to animals that are bonded. Bonded refers to a close friend, so I couldn’t understand Matilda just as Rosalin (the woman, not the drink) couldn’t understand Chimeree. Then again, Rosalin didn’t understand any other animals. Not enough toning of her abilities, I suppose. She looked the same as she always had. Her hair was red, her eyes a sparkling green, like a lush meadow you just wanted to touch. Her wavy locks appeared to be a little frazzled, probably from humidity.

“The snapdragons and wall are new,” I stated.

“Yes,” she admitted, walking over into the next room briefly. Moments later, a blur of insults landed on my shoulder with Chimeree accompanying them. “I think your bird is upset with me.”

“Chimeree,” I both told her his name and disapproved of my friend’s quick tongue. “Wouldn’t you be, if you had nearly been eaten?” I didn’t purposely intend to sound so mean, but knew from her hurt expression I had.

“Mrow row mrrow?”

Rosalin gasped, her lips hiding a smile as best as they could. “No, Matilda!”

“What did she say?” I asked. I was curious.

“Nothing.” I didn’t believe her.

“She asked if that gil’ Rosalin could turn you into a mouse so she could eat you!” Chimeree twittered, puffing himself up. I never really had the heart to tell him, but the bird looked ridiculous when he did that, like a giant blue and green marshmallow of some kind.

I couldn’t help myself. I smiled, a rare thing indeed. “Can you leave us alone for a moment, Chimeree? I want to talk alone to Rosalin.”

The bird huffed. “Give ‘er what for, Arlen,” he chirped, taking off, probably to get something to eat. Matilda lifted her tail high behind her, her thick coat giving me the impression of an heiress. Her orange and tan body slunk out a small cat door and it squeaked shut behind.

“…Hello, Arlen.”

I stared at her, sorting my thoughts and emotions into their proper bins. “Do you remember your gift?”

“The bag of miracles? What’s wrong with it? It’s still producing things, isn’t it?” She referred to a well-size bag she had given me the last time we met, designed to produce anything I wished at any time, as long as it wasn’t alive and wasn’t size constricting.

“On a whim,” I replied. “The other gift.”

“Oh…” I could feel the air getting heavier, tasting stale between us. I hated it. Her eyes broke contact with mine. “I told you I can’t remove it.”

“It’s growing.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting. Not a good sign. “Growing? What do you mean?”

“What I said, Rosalin. It’s growing. I don’t understand why.”

“Show me.”

I removed my vest, unbuttoned my shirt, and shifted as I let it slide down. The armor glistened in the light that came from the window, covering my chest from collarbone to bellybutton. It looked so thin one would think the individual chain links were part of my skin. Despite how light it looked, the way it felt was entirely different.

“Oh, Arlen…” Her hands attentively resting on it, she touched the edges. “What is happening to you?”

“This isn’t the worst.”

She looked into my eyes, her fresh, sweet scent of honeydew-soaked hair wafting through my nostrils. “Not the worst?”

“It’s covered my arms, too.”

“…are you alright?” I sensed the repentant tone of her voice, but my already-irritated fur had been further rubbed the wrong way. I couldn’t help a snide remark.

“If I were alright, Rosalin, would I come here of all places, to you , asking about your gift?”

“No,” she whispered, her hand returning to her side. “You wouldn’t.”

“Then I’m not alright. I want this armor off.”

“I already told you it’s not that easy.” She had returned to her cooking.

“Then make it easy,” I snapped, trying to keep my anger controlled.

“Arlen… I can’t,” she whispered, bending over the steaming tea kettle.

“Yes, you can!” I tossed the stool I had been sitting on back, bitterness burning under my skin. She gave way to a startled squeak, the teakettle clattering to the floor, spilling water. I rushed to her side, heart beating rapidly. That’s when my arms felt heavy. They were covered in the armor.

She stared at them as I helped her up, and she nodded. “I’ll… see what I can do.”

Hours later, I absent-mindedly scratched under Matilda’s chin as her purring thrum tickled my fingers. “You might as well stop sulking, Chimeree,” I remarked to the jealous bird sulking in the corner of the rafters.

“You like ‘er more than you do me,” the accent grumbled.

“I do not. You know better than that.” I waved a free hand enough for him to see, my other still absorbed in petting the cat under it. Soon my friend was on the arm of the lounge chair, my right hand rubbing over his feathers, behind me the sounds of Rosalin in the kitchen. I secretly hoped she hadn’t picked up any more pets, since I was at a lack of hands.

“Mrow row grow?” a mix of trilling sounds came from the cat.

I sort of wished I could understand bonded at that point. I knew I couldn’t, but Chimeree could, since they were both part of the same kingdom. “What did she say?”

“She says yore’ lucky.”

“Lucky?” I rubbed her cheek. “Why?”

“Row mow mrrow prow.”
Chimeree ruffled his feathers a bit. “She says if ‘er mistress ‘and’t given you the armor you wear now, yore’ ribs would be crushed from the snapdragons.”

I nodded after a moment, deep in thought. The more I thought back to the elusive, dangerous vines, the more a certain question came to my mind.

“Dinner is ready!” Rosalin’s voice rang out from behind me.

Matilda waltzed into the kitchen as Rosalin set down a saucer of milk and a plate of fish.

I walked in and Rosalin set a small bowl beside the window. “Chimeree…” She smiled as she approached him. “I have some dinner waiting for you, too.” She pointed towards the windowsill. “Birdseed pudding, my specialty for friends of Arlen.”

“Food? For me?” Chimeree fluttered over and dove into the bowl, seed scattering about her sink. “Arlen!” his muffled voice came through the air, “you need te’ marry this girl, quick! She kin’ cook way betta’ than you!”

My cheeks felt hot. I tried to hide it. “Arlen?”

“Yes?” I said, snapping my eyes upwards to meet hers.

“I asked if you wanted to have a seat,” she giggled.

“Oh. Yes.” I pulled a chair in behind me as Rosalin sat across from me. Mother would have killed me. I forgot to push the chair in behind her, or even pull it out for her to begin with.

I only nibbled and picked at what I was offered. Oh, it tasted good enough, but that question was still nagging me.

“Arlen? Is everything alright?”

I made brief, but direct eye contact with her and took a spoonful of her savory stew. “Why snapdragons, Rosalin?”

“Well, they’re good plants. Good for protection and easy to tame,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

“Why?” I repeated my question, sounding more like her father than friend.

“Sorceresses are not welcome in society, no matter how naïve they are.” I saw her hand enclose about her upper arm. I suddenly felt a sinking in my heart.

“Rosalin… let me see.”

“No, Arlen, no!” She suddenly became very defensive. “Just leave it alone!”

My eyes widened. “Rosalin… let me see!” I reached over the table and grabbed her wrist, pulling her squirming form in while peeling back the top of her sleeve. I gasped. “Rosalin…” My fingers very lightly touched her skin, where the upside-down P had been branded into the perfect flesh. “Who did this?”

“Arlen, don’t!”

“Who did this to you?!” I shouted, startling the animals. I never cried. It wasn’t conducive to the life of a mercenary. My eyesight grew blurry. Rosalin was so beautiful… how dare anyone mar her like this? Now I understood. She planted the snapdragons to protect herself.

“Purifiers… that’s why I have the wall and snapdragons… but Arlen, don’t go after them! Arlen, you can’t defeat them, you mustn’t try!”

I felt the white hot burn of anger fill my bones. Then something cool touched my hand. I looked up into her eyes. “Rosalin… I will make them pay…”

Purifiers. The mere name made my blood boil. Purifiers never traveled this far, into a place so close to Escata. They did not always exist. They are an extremely dangerous cult, devoted to destroying anything with inhuman characteristics. If a purifier finds themselves subdued, they use a spell to brand the victim, which leaves the other purifiers aware. It attracts them like flies to garbage, acts like a tracker. If they were near Escata, we’d have to be aware of it. It made no sense at all. They hated anything but humans.

“About your armor…” Rosalin bit her lip. I could tell she was simply trying to change the subject, but I humored her. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I… might have done something wrong. It was my first spell. Do you remember what I said about it?”

“It can only be removed by someone I love and only someone who loves me can pierce it,” I recited. How could I have possibly forgotten?

“I forgot… how long has it been?” she asked.

“A little over a year,” I responded, remembering the past perfectly.

“And now it’s different, isn’t it?” she asked, pursing her lips. “Hm… I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry, Arlen.”

“No suggestions at all.”

“Well… there is one thing,” she said as she played with her fingers.

I shivered a little. “The soup is cold now. If you have something to say, say it.”

“You could find the silver stag,” she spoke softly.

“Silver stag?” I swallowed. “Is that even real?”

“Of course it’s real, Arlen,” she said. “I talked it over with Matilda while you were with Chimeree, and we’ve discussed things about it before you got here.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to search for this Silver Stag with no leads, no proof, while if it exists, it’s probably almost impossible to capture, let alone see, all based on the opinions of a cat?”

“Well… there’s one more tiny detail,” she squeaked, pinching her thumb and pointer together.

“What’s that?”

“It’s in Escata.”

“Forget it.” I pushed back my chair and placed my bowl in the sink.

“But, Arlen. It’s the only way…”

“I can wait,” I replied, getting slightly suspicious. Why was she so persistant?

“Arlen. Please. Now.”

That look in her eye clinched it. “What do you know?”

“Arlen, I don’t know anything, but I have suspicions.”

“Like…” Did I really have to drag it all out of her like this?

“The armor may be… changing due to you. Sort of… picking up its own purpose besides the one I gave it.”

“…what? You mean the armor is growing for a reason?”

“Well… yes. It could be reasoning due to your actions, it’s thinking… becoming irrational. It’s possible, but not likely that it’s trying to help you in some roundabout-“

“Whoa. Hold on, backup,” I cut her off. “What do you mean, the armor thinks ? It’s inanimate.”

“In a way, yes. But when I gave it to you, I did it with a purpose, with forbidden magic. The armor, over this period of time, is… learning, growing… thinking,” she finished, rubbing her temples in an effort to make it as simple as possible. “You need to get it off as soon as possible in case what it’s doing isn’t helping you. At the rate it’s going, it could fuse with your skin, become a part of you.”

My heart quickened. Armor… becoming part of me? Not a pleasant thought. “Could I survive it?”

“If that’s the case… most likely no.” Rosalin bowed her head a bit. “Arlen… please. Go. Find the silver stag. It’s your only hope. Its magic should be able to help.”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. Well, I guess I’m going on a hunt. How will I be able to contact you?”

She shook her head sadly. “You won’t.” Pausing, she rummaged through several drawers before pulling out a necklace. “This is an enchanted charm, Arlen. When you’re in trouble, its words will guide you.”

I turned it over in my hands as she gave it to me. To be honest, it looked unflashy and boring. The chain was a mix of copper and gold, faded. The pendant itself was the size of a medium pebble, a circular shape of a gold outline and a black, glassy stone in the middle. I turned it over to see a small inscription. If I squinted, I could read the elfish. “Arlen Drago Asterling. The Year of the First Coming.” I looked at Rosalin. “What is this?”

“I… wanted to give it to you… when we first met. It was my gift. But I was too shy… so my family let me hold onto it…”

I knew what she referred to, the first ceremony of a boy entering manhood. “Rosalin… but how could you know my name unless you already… knew me?” She had. She must have known about me before I even met her. She had liked me for much longer than I had figured. I hung the pendant about my neck and shrilly whistled for my friend, who I found was quite gorged. “I will come back. I promise.”

“Good luck, Arlen…” She gave a hug I could hardly feel through the armor. “Good-bye…”